


like we're werewolves in new skin

by prehistoric



Series: peace of mind [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Double Penetration, M/M, Polyamory, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 15:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prehistoric/pseuds/prehistoric
Summary: It had taken John an embarrassing amount of time to put two and two together.





	like we're werewolves in new skin

**Author's Note:**

> the "non-con elements" tag is for some retreading of what happened in the first story. there are no new somnophilia scenarios in this one.

John heads out and stops for coffee: decent. He takes his car in for maintenance: Boring. Thankfully, the mechanics finish the job quickly, and he makes it home before noon to find Ryan fucking Dylan on the couch: Excellent. 

Lying on his back, Dylan catches John’s eye as he comes into the condo. “Hey,” he says, his breaths shallow with Ryan pumping his hips. “All done?”

“Yep.” John watches them as he shrugs off his coat, hangs it up. 

Ryan doesn’t take his attention away from Dylan, but he throws a, “Hey, Johnny,” over his shoulder. 

“I see you two are enjoying your morning,” John says, sitting down in the lounger off to the side. The angle is already pretty ideal for watching Ryan’s cock dip into Dylan’s ass, and Ryan does him the favor of shifting outward more as John leans back and unbuckles his pants.

They can’t stop getting off together lately. The second Dylan and Ryan let themselves admit they wanted this, the dam broke. If there’s a line to draw and officially declare too much of a good thing, they haven’t found it yet. John might develop a complex over how much sex they’ve been having if they didn’t both seem to also love letting him sit right there and get off on it with them. An open bottle of lube on the table comes in handy, John squirting some into his palm and smoothing it over his cock. Dylan arches and moans, his naked thigh rising and blocking the view. 

“No, let me see,” John says, settling in. He jerks off slow. “Ryan, he’s—”

“Sorry,” Dylan pants as Ryan pushes his leg down again. He tilts Dylan’s hips to the side a bit, resetting. Perfect view.

“Don’t apologize,” John says. He gives his cock short strokes, reveling in the pressure. “I just want to watch you feel good.”

They look great together. Some part of John’s brain still registers how odd it is to think that, but what can he do? Watching his boyfriend get fucked by his older brother makes him come. Ryan and Dylan zone in again, finding a steady, grinding rhythm. Dylan’s whimpers tend to pitch higher and get louder the closer he gets to orgasm. He chants Ryan’s name in breathy puffs of air, demanding something nebulous. Ryan fucks him harder, like he’s hoping enthusiasm might at least help him stumble across what it is Dylan really needs. 

John smiles. He knows the feeling. 

He doesn’t speed up the slide of his hand on his cock to match them. It occurs to John that, well, it’s not like he has to go out again today if he doesn’t want. No hurry.

Dylan comes first, gritting his teeth, but it doesn’t take Ryan long to follow him. A minute more of thrusting, pulling all the way to the head and pressing in again, pushes him over. He hunches forward and kisses Dylan while his hand snakes down, holding his cock in place as he pours his load inside.

He lets himself slip out when he’s satisfied, Dylan full and nearly purring. John watches them make out with an incongruous sweetness for a while. They’re oddly charming in the ways they choose to be rough and choose to be careful. Dylan and Ryan still approach kissing like they can’t quite believe they’re allowed. 

Incredible. John wants to fuck Dylan now. 

“Ry,” he says, shifting off of his chair. He pushes down his pants and kicks them off his feet gracelessly. “My turn.” 

“Sure,” is all Ryan says, cheerfully sated. He moves around and gets Dylan to lift his head, rest it on Ryan’s thighs. 

Dylan doesn’t hesitate to open his legs for John. It doesn’t matter that he’s probably overstimulated and growing sensitive. He’s really good at being ready for them, willing to make sure everybody’s taken care of. 

“We missed you,” he says. His voice is still sex sluggish, enticing. 

“Oh, yeah?” John pushes inside, sliding easily thanks to the lube and how’s Dylan filthy wet from Ryan’s spunk. “It seems like you survived.”

“We try,” Dylan jokes. His breath hitches as John ruts into him quick. 

Ryan pets his hair. “You okay?”

“He’s okay,” John says, pulling back and going again. This is nothing. 

“Mm. Mhm,” Dylan confirms and lets his mouth fall open gently. Ryan traces his lips with his fingers as John fucks into him, determined to gift Dylan with twice the come.

 

Dylan was an accident. Obviously. When John met him, he was just Ryan’s little brother. He hadn’t even quite hit his growth spurt yet, him and Matt running around shorter and more hyper than Ryan. 

“They both play hockey too,” Ryan had said in casual conversation, and that was how John thought of the Stromes for a long time in the beginning. He trained with this young guy Ryan, and Ryan had two younger brothers, and they all hoped to make the NHL someday. Friendly, relatable.

John didn’t even anticipate getting close to Ryan initially, but they clicked. Ryan was subtly funny and earnest, passionate about working hard. John’s a work horse, he knows it, but Ryan never seemed to shy away from meeting him stride for stride. 

When their parents let him, Dylan would tag along sometimes in the summer. John wasn’t as close to him, but they talked enough that Dylan felt comfortable hinting at it when he’d started dating more seriously.

John asked, “What’s that? Are you saying you have a girlfriend, middle Strome?”

“No,” Dylan said, a goofy grin yanking his mouth to the side. “I don’t know.” 

“It’s still in that awkward in-between phase then,” John said, trying to help him out. 

“Kind of.” Dylan shifted on the grass and looked over his shoulder. Ryan was busy fetching their soccer ball from where it had been kicked up into one of the trees. Dylan dusted something invisible off his hands and shrugged. “It’s not a girl.”

John raised his eyebrows. He didn’t know what to say to that, blinking in the open air and eventually opening his mouth to try anything, really. “Whoa. That’s kind of huge.”

Peeking over his shoulder again, Dylan said, “I haven’t told him yet.”

He was nervous, John had realized. It was always odd when it clicked for him that someone actually cared about his opinion, was maybe looking for his advice. Ryan and Dylan were the kind of close that radiated off of them. All three brothers had the kind of quick-witted, easy rapport that John always liked most about siblings, even though he spent the least amount of time around the youngest Strome. Matty was more content forging his own path and apparently just this side of too young now for Dylan to want to bounce something like bisexuality off him first. 

“You could,” John said, because he believed it. He’d mentioned hookups of his own indirectly but clearly enough that Ryan knew John meant he had sex with guys sometimes. He never got weird about it. “He loves you. He’s going to be there for you like always.” 

“Yeah,” Dylan said idly, then repeated it more firmly, as if he was trying to commit to agreeing with that. “Thanks.”

“Any time. And you can still talk to me.” John bumped his shoulder. “I know how you feel.”

Dylan looked stunned this time. “Seriously?”

John nodded.

“Wow. Cool,” Dylan said and held up his hands to catch the ball when Ryan tossed it across to them.

 

“Can you open wider?” John says, grazing his fingertips over Ryan’s cheek. “More, more — yes.”

Ryan gags around his cock and tries to stifle a cough. John smirks at him and doesn’t push. Ryan’s still learning. 

“You got it, Ry,” Dylan says, propped up next to John on the bed. He already sounds sleep fuzzy, loose. 

John kisses his chin. Dylan hums gratefully and tips in to catch his mouth, letting John lick along his bottom lip for a moment before he checks on Ryan. “Pull back now. Do it again.” He’s happy to watch his cock disappear between Ryan’s lips again and feel the way the head nudges against his throat when he takes too much at once. “Take your time. We’re not in a rush.”

“You’re doing better than me already,” Dylan says and yawns. 

Ryan hums, the sudden vibration of it thrumming against John’s cock, just enough to make his muscles twitch. He lets his eyes flutter shut, content to endure Ryan exploring and testing his limits. John doesn’t have to get off fast. Half the fun is watching them figure things out. 

Dylan nestles lower, kissing John’s shoulder. He concentrates a bunch of soft pecks there, quietly supportive until he really does fall asleep. John laughs when Dylan snores. 

Pulling back for air, Ryan says, “Watching me blow you is that boring, huh?” 

John glances down and kisses the top of Dylan’s hair. “Maybe it’s more that he’s really comforted by it.”

Ryan snorts and shakes his head, working his jaw. He shifts on his knees and drops low again, sucking around John with more intent. John warns him when he’s about to come, but Ryan doesn’t back away, holding the spunk in his mouth and closing his eyes like he intends to swallow but bungles it. 

“Just go spit,” John says. “Go ahead.”

He scoots higher on the comforter while Ryan’s gone. Dylan snuffles and bends his knees more, covering one of John’s legs with his own. John braces Dylan’s thigh, palm curving over warm skin. More than a year together, and this has become one of John’s favorite places to be, lying naked while Dylan clings. Before or after they’ve fucked. They’ve both got their advantages. 

Ryan slides in behind Dylan. He props on his elbow and stares at John and Dylan. The expression on his face seems thoughtful but inscrutable. 

“How do you feel?” John asks.

“Good.” Ryan seems to shake him himself out of whatever he was thinking. He drops his head to Dylan’s shoulder and breathes in. “I’m good.” 

Heading into July means they really should ramp up training. John’s finding it more difficult to get into the right mindset now, preoccupied with whatever dangerous, heady spiral they’ve all stumbled into. In a way, John and Dylan worked hard to tip the scales in this direction, and yet everything about having Ryan here still feels novel and surprising. July usually signals that it’s time to think ahead next season, but John’s having to put in extra effort to think too far outside of this apartment at all lately. 

Though it dawns on him to ask, “Do you know what you want for your birthday?”

Ryan looks puzzled. “Oh, right. I almost forgot.”

“What could you possibly have on your mind?” John teases.

Ryan breaths out slowly. “More than I know what to do with.”

“Too much?”

“No, no,” Ryan says, insistent. “It’s just a lot.” He twists his mouth. “This is about to sound stupid.”

“I don’t think anything we could say to each other would be shocking by now.” Compared to what they’ve already done together, most other requests have to be pretty tame by default. 

Ryan’s fingers drift along Dylan’s side, meeting John’s at Dylan’s hip and yo-yoing away. He says, “I want to take him out, the three of us. Somehow.” The smile creeps across John’s face without his permission. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“What? It’s sweet,” John says. “I wasn’t expecting it, is all. I thought you might say you wanted to tie him up or something.”

“Christ.” Ryan groans. “This is — right, that would be, uh. Yeah. But I feel like I owe him, for all of this. I still have to make it up to him.”

John can feel his smile instantly fade. “You didn’t do anything he didn’t want.”

“You guys say that.” Ryan gnaws at the inside of his mouth a moment. His eyes get glassy in the light, and he blinks it away. “But I thought I did. When it happened.”

He touches his nose to Dylan’s skin again, reverent. Ryan doesn’t follow it up by pointing out that John also let him think that, but he doesn’t have to. He and Ryan surprised one another; they both took advantage in the heat of the moment, and later all three of them did, and John doesn’t really want to know what anyone outside of their circle would think.

He reaches over to stroke Ryan’s hair, giving him a tether. “What do you want to do?” 

“It’s not a fully developed idea yet,” he says. “Let’s rent out a restaurant for dinner or something. Treat him.”

“You want your birthday present to be us taking Dylan on a date,” John states, to be clear.

“Yeah.” Ryan kisses Dylan’s shoulder and lies down fully. 

John nods. “Alright. We’ll put it together.”

 

John didn’t feel cut out for being a mentor, not the way players in Dylan’s class needed. He liked coaching the bantam guys for the Mentorship Cup, but he was also relieved those types of events were short-lived. John was better with players closer to his age still, more suited to well-meaning peer pressure than plainly trying to be anyone’s authority figure. It was — weird. He was barely into his twenties. He didn’t know much of anything yet.

Getting to nag Dylan was fun, but John much prefered simply being his friend. As Dylan got older, he tagged along with Ryan for summer training more often. John thought of him like a hummingbird, zipping in and out unpredictably. Everything about Dylan felt colorful and frenetic, Ryan’s vibrant younger sibling who went from preteen timid to an adolescent eagerness to try whatever he could. 

Dylan told John about his first time. Dylan told him about trying a threesome. Dylan told him about his first big breakup. He didn’t go into play-by-play detail with any of it so much as he always wanted to ask John’s opinion. Is that what it was like for you? Did you ever do that? Does liking men and women mean getting to feel double heartbreak? Because that fucking sucks. 

John laughed at him a little for that last one, but he appreciated that Dylan felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable. He’d come out to his family and still somehow wanted to make a place for John’s perspective in his life. Go figure. It was flattering.

“They don’t all hurt this bad,” John had said. He was at the Stromes’ house, waiting for Ryan to hurry up and get his gear together so they could make it to the rink for ice time. He put his arm around Dylan’s shoulders on the couch, and Dylan took it as a cue to make himself at home in John’s space. He was good at that. 

“Thank god,” Dylan said. 

He didn’t move the rest of the time John was there, members of the rest of the family filtering in and out of the living room at random. John made small talk and idly watched the news on TV until Ryan bounded down the stairs with his bag. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m ready to roll now,” he said and kicked at Dylan’s feet. “Let Johnny up.”

“I’m too comfortable,” Dylan said.

John laughed and squeezed Dylan for a moment before carefully pulling free. “We’ll catch you later, Dylan. Don’t spend all day pouting, alright?”

Dylan murmured noncommittally and spread out across the space John vacated. Ryan leaned down to ruffle his hair, sympathetic. 

“Want me to bring you something back later?” he asked.

Dylan folded his arms against his chest, trying to cocoon with no blankets. “No, I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sure,” Ryan said in a transparently leading tone, giving a Dylan a chance to change his mind. When he didn’t, Ryan patted his shoulder and finally moved toward the door. 

He still had John stop to pick up food for his family after they finished with their on-ice workout. Ryan added a cupcake to his order last minute and said, “Ginger and cinnamon cream sounds like it tastes good, doesn’t it? Dyl likes cinnamon desserts.” 

“Couldn’t hurt,” John said. “Get him two. One from me.”

John didn’t hang around at the house. He dropped Ryan off and went home, looking forward to a nap. When he parked his car, he grabbed his cell phone from the center tray and noticed a new message. Dylan had sent a selfie biting into one of the cupcakes and followed it up with a heart emoji. 

“Feel better,” John wrote and pressed send.

 

Even with the rainforest shower head in John’s master bedroom, three people trying to get clean at the same time just doesn’t make sense. Instead of any efficiency, what keeps happening is that two of them make out while the third actually soaps up. John doesn’t really have any complaints. That arrangement works wonderfully, but thinking about how nonsensical showering has become in the last couple weeks is hilarious.

Dylan finishes first, slipping through the shower door and draping himself in a towel while John jerks Ryan off against the tile wall. Ryan’s fingers scrabble delicately along John’s skin, still charmingly tentative when it’s the two of them. He’s quieter than Dylan when he moans but flushes similarly. John sucks a mark into his neck while he brings Ryan over, easily rinsing the come away under the spray. 

“Get it, Ryan,” Dylan says from where he’s standing at the sink. Ryan whines as John chuckles against his ear.

He turns off the shower and lets Ryan step out ahead of him. Dylan tosses them towels. 

“Thanks, babe,” John says, smacking Dylan’s ass playfully. They crowd around the bathroom counter together for a minute, all going for different things — face wash, toothpaste, a flurry of freshening up. 

Dylan gargles and spits. He shifts to the side, leaning against the door as he watches them. “Did you guys ever hook up? Before me and John, I mean.”

Ryan shakes his head as John says, “Nope,” aloud. 

“For real?” He seems truly surprised somehow. “I used to wonder sometimes. You spent so much time together.” 

“Were you jealous?” John asks. Dylan huffs and tips his head up with a flourish, trying to hard to be dismissive. John swipes on deodorant and caps the container, moving closer to him. He flattens his palm over Dylan’s sternum and the thump of his heart seems to quicken. He can’t be sure but he likes having that effect. He hopes it is. “You were.” That much is obvious. “Jealous of which one of us?”

“No one,” Dylan says. It’s not really even a confident attempt at a lie. 

John takes mercy and kisses him. Dylan winds his arms around John’s neck, tilting to better connect their mouths. Behind him, the water stops. The sound of Ryan tapping something against the marble tick, tick, ticks in the space quickly and vanishes. 

“Excuse me, guys,” he says breezily, reaching beside John to grab the soap dish. John can feel him moving around. When Ryan tries to make his way past them, John stops him and leans back from Dylan enough to end the kiss. 

“Did you hear that?” John asks. “Dylan felt left out.” 

“That’s not what I said.” Dylan slumps against the wall, making himself smaller, and yet he still has some visible height on Ryan. 

Ryan half-smiles. Dylan mirrors it, the two of them gazing at each other like they’re waiting for permission to take another step. John feels tempted to remind them that they already have it, but he waits them out, interlocking one hand with Dylan’s off to the side. At some point one of them will take the lead. They keep giving in eventually.

This round goes to Dylan. Ryan cranes forward and kisses him. Dylan groans, the privately content way John’s learned to associate with decadent afternoons. Ryan pinches him and makes him giggle, pulling back with a smile. 

“Can we get dressed now? I’m hungry,” he says and ducks out of the bathroom. 

John takes the chance to nuzzle Dylan’s neck a little longer. “Did you really think we’d messed around?”

“I don’t know. Kind of. I thought about how you could,” Dylan confesses. “If you did.”

John kisses his cheek, his mouth. He grins. “Maybe you should’ve been paying closer attention.”

 

What changed was that nothing did. There was Ryan’s little brother, and then there was Dylan, and once he had some quick time off that overlapped with the Islanders being on a homestand. 

“Do you mind if he comes to stay with us for a couple of days?” Ryan had asked. 

“Not at all,” John said. He knew Dylan had been sent back to Erie, but Ryan seemed to talk about him less. They were busy with their own challenges among their team, so John didn’t press or even think much of it until suddenly Dylan wanted to come to New York. “Is everything okay?”

“I think he needs a break,” Ryan said. “He can’t really vent there, you know?” 

Understandable. Dylan came into town with rosy cheeks and faint bags under his eyes. Pure midseason fatigue. John and Ryan had a game to play in the middle of his visit, but it was nice to sit up with Dylan afterward and let him talk aimlessly. John dozed off to the sound of Ryan and Dylan speaking amongst themselves, huddled up on the couch. They got quieter and quieter, until John figured they were doing it on purpose, trading secrets and pep talks not meant for him. He didn’t mind. 

Ryan still bailed first, extricating himself from how Dylan had curled around his body and saying, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get you the inflatable mattress? I like this couch, but come on.”

“It’s okay,” Dylan said stretching his arms up. “Night.” 

Ryan kissed the side of his face and walked off, leaving John to slowly rouse himself from his doze. Dylan uncurled his legs and put them in John’s lap. “Are you staying here?”

“Standing feels like such a chore right now,” John said. Dylan laughed airly. John held onto his bare ankle, massaging. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m doing what I can,” he said, ominous and dramatic. “Hockey’s weird. Being an adult is weird already. My love life is weird.” 

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone new,” John said. He walked his fingers higher on Dylan’s skin. He looked right at home lying across the couch in baggy shorts. 

“I’m not, really. Kind of the problem.” 

He inhaled slowly and worked his hips lower, finding a better groove in the cushions. The movement pulled one side of his shorts taut, tugging them down unevenly where they were caught between him and the couch. John’s eyes had been drawn to the cut of Dylan’s hip. 

“You know it’ll all work itself out eventually,” John said. “Girl?” 

“Guy,” Dylan said, sighing again as John braced his calf, putting pressure on the muscle. He gave Dylan a massage — at least the best he could manage while he was also preoccupied with the idea of eventually carting himself to bed. Dylan hummed gratefully, quietly basking in John showing him some affection. “That’s really nice.”

“Anything for you,” John said, amused.

Dylan usually felt better about most things if someone took a few minutes to dote on him. Whatever was bothering him seemed to leave his mind for several minutes, but John could tell when he started thinking too much again. He flattened his hands over his face and whined. 

“Feeling like this sucks,” he said. “Have you ever wanted something you can’t have?”

“Why can’t you?” John asked. “You’re awesome. Who wouldn’t want you?” 

Earning the small a laugh from Dylan felt good. John slid his hand even higher, fingertips skating along the underside of Dylan’s knee. Dylan shivered. He exhaled and rolled his hips. John wasn’t sure if it was fatigue or a sea change until Dylan glanced toward the hallway and then whispered, “Would you want me?” 

John blamed his sleepiness for his delayed response, for not saying words and instead pushing further. His fingers nudged under the hem of Dylan’s shorts. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

“I’m just asking a question.” 

Dylan said it calmly, but the way his eyes fluttered shut as John’s hand crept along his thigh told a different story. John concentrated there, rubbing circles into Dylan’s leg as heat pooled in his gut. There Dylan was, relaxed and inviting. John hadn’t intended to get to this place, but now that they were here, his cock was interested. Dylan was cute. Dylan was sweet. Dylan would absolutely let John get him off right then.

“Who is it that you can’t have?” John asked.

“Right now? You tell me.” 

Dylan opened his eyes, staring John down boldly. Feeling Dylan up while his brother wasn’t very far away wasn’t the smartest idea by any means, but Dylan kept hitching his hips, and John was getting hard.

He pushed his hand all the way, cupping Dylan’s cock over his underwear. Dylan made a throaty, indulgent sound and bucked into the pressure. Tangled in layers of fabric made jerking him off difficult, but John was reluctant to pull away long and break the spell. Dylan’s brow furrowed and his toes kept flexing. John managed to get into his underwear too, pumping him while half-leaning over. Straining his biceps was worth it for the way Dylan had to bite down hard on his lip, clamping his thighs together around John’s arm as he came. 

“Oh, f—fuck,” he panted. “God.” 

“Shh.” 

John finally freed his hand and crawled over Dylan. He barely had to lean down before Dylan was pressing his face up to get halfway, kissing John with desperation. 

“Did you like that?”

Dylan tried to nod. 

“Do you want more?” 

“Johnny,” Dylan whispered, a razor’s edge from pleading. Gone on sensation. It was a tempting look on him.

“Would you let me fuck you?” John asked. It hadn’t been the question he had in mind at first, but Dylan was pliable, it was late, and fuck, John wanted him. It felt like being catapulted into the deep end to touch Dylan like this and realize over and over that he could keep going. 

Then Dylan said, “Yeah.” 

John pushed at his hip, getting him to turn over. The movement hit a snag, one moment to rethink, and John looked Dylan in the eye and waited for him to say something. He didn’t. Dylan rolled onto his stomach as John dragged his zipper open. It wasn’t the most precious sex John had ever had, using spit and what he could of Dylan’s come. He guided his cock in and started fucking Dylan in short thrusts to minimize the drag. 

Dylan kept moaning softly, half of his face smashed into the couch. John kissed his jaw and grit his teeth against Dylan’s chin, taking what he wanted in sharp rhythm. He didn’t last long, too keyed up and worried that Ryan might resurface for no reason at all, catching his best friend humping his brother like some frantic, graceless hookup at a party. John at least had the wherewithal to pull out before he came, painting Dylan’s ass crack with pearly white semen. 

Disbelief washed over John immediately afterward. He gazed at the mess between Dylan’s legs and caught his breath, dumbfounded. Dylan flipped back around and looked John right in the face again. 

“You can’t stay out here like this,” John said as he watched Dylan awkwardly tug up his shorts all the way. Dylan’s eyes flicked down to John’s cock, and John tucked himself in, the two of them failing to navigate the aftermath of a sudden, brutal fuck. 

“Do you think he heard?” was the first thing Dylan asked. 

John blinked. “I don’t know.” He hoped not. John took Dylan’s hand and stood, pulling Dylan upright with him. “Come on.”

For a moment he wondered what he would do if Dylan resisted, what it would mean. Luckily Dylan sat up and followed John to his bedroom, sparing a glance at Ryan’s closed door before they went in. 

“Don’t worry,” John said. 

He’d meant to help Dylan wipe up and just let him crash. They could say they fell asleep watching a movie in John’s room or something, anything. Dylan could even go back out to the couch if he wanted. What John really got was Dylan stripping off his shorts and underwear, unabashedly nude from the waist down and checking himself out in John’s bathroom mirror as he wiped up with a damp rag. John sat on the edge of his bed and marveled at Dylan taking his time. 

“What’s wrong?” Dylan asked, when he noticed. He glanced down at his body, trying to find the point that held John’s attention. 

“Nothing,” John said. “I’m just…”

Honestly there was no good way to finish that thought. John had sex with his friend’s brother. With Dylan. That was his come that Dylan was cleaning off of his skin. Everything about the last half hour hit him in devastating, belated bursts of truth.

Dylan rinsed the washcloth and draped it over the edge of the sink. He didn’t cup his hands over himself as he walked out ot the bathroom, letting John take in a front view of his soft cock and the slope of his thighs. John braced Dylan’s waist as he got closer, not sure if he was holding him off or savouring a moment. Dylan put his hand on John’s shoulders.

“Did that just make your love life more or less weird?” John asked.

“Ha,” Dylan said. “Can’t tell yet. I guess distracting to start?”

Chuckling, John said, “Glad to help.”

“Wears off, though.” Dylan lined his toes up with John’s, bumping the tips together.

“Sorry about that.” 

Dylan pushed into his space, making John sit back on his hands to give Dylan room to straddle his lap. John accommodated his weight, Dylan’s naked ass brushing his knees.

“You could probably still do something about it,” Dylan said.

John also had the option to stop things, but he wanted to touch Dylan again more than he wanted preservation in that moment. He slid his hands beneath Dylan’s shirt and dragged it up to see if Dylan allow John to bare him completely.

He did. 

John had planned to let Dylan clean off and go to bed, but they kissed again. Dylan moaned temptingly when John touched his skin. He let John flip them and press him down into the mattress. This time there was lube close by, and John told himself he needed to fuck Dylan again if only to prove he could do it right.

 

They literally leave the country for Ryan’s birthday. It was really kind of a toss-up: head north away from Toronto or down into the States. What they do is go to laser tag in the early afternoon, laughing and running through the dark, and then John takes the driver’s seat and carts them across the border.

“Tell me again why we couldn’t have had dinner in Toronto,” Dylan says, his feet propped on the dash. He looks ridiculous curled up in the seat like that. It’s endearing. 

Ryan still eventually reaches forward from the backseat and pushes at his legs. “Don’t scuff Johnny’s dash,” he says. “And I wanted to. It’s my birthday.”

“It’s not like I have my shoes on,” Dylan says testily, but he drops his legs down into the well obediently. 

“Just enjoy the ride,” John says. He flips the radio stations until Dylan stops him on a country song and sings along. 

They drive further than they probably need to, but once Ryan had suggested a day trip, John dived all the way in. There are plenty of hockey fans in upstate New York, but Johnny’s really only looking for fewer than Toronto and hoping anyone who is milling around is too busy thinking about summer to pay them much attention. 

Traffic isn’t as backed up as John thought it would be, so they still make it to the house Ryan booked for two days in great time. Ryan insists on dressing up for dinner. His exact words are “one night of fancy,” and Dylan laughs at him even as he pulls out the nice clothes he brought with and takes a quick shower.

“Blazer on or off?” Dylan asks once he’s almost finished, pulling at the lapels. He shrugs out of the jacket again for comparison. “It’s warm out. I don’t want to be too warm.”

“I think you can go without. The shirt has a collar,” John says, fixing it for him. You look hot.”

Dylan lifts his eyebrows comically. “Wait until you see what I look like out of this.” 

John rolls his eyes but lets Dylan push in to steal a few kisses. “Now,” John says. “The hair.”

“Hey,” Dylan says defensively, but they get distracted by Ryan fixing his cuffs, spreading his arms and announcing that he’s ready. 

“Can we roll?” he asks. 

“Look at you, showing me up.” Dylan tugs at Ryan’s sweater as he moves close enough. 

Ryan shakes his head as if he’s about to say something self-deprecating. “You’ll figure out the style thing eventually.”

“What the hell,” Dylan says, laughing. “I’m getting it from all sides right now.”

“Isn’t that how you like it?” John asks. Dylan gives him an unimpressed “har har,” and John just pushes him along toward the bathroom. “For real, fix your hair. We have a reservation.”

“Such a production.” Dylan still goes, doing what he can to tame the mane before they head out. 

“We’ll be on the porch,” Ryan says and nods at John. “Let’s go.” 

He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet outside. John smiles at him. “Is this turning out how you hoped?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Thanks.”

“Happy birthday.”

“So, does this place have the best steak ever made or something?” Dylan asks as he comes outside, locking the door behind him. “Is it the reason the term New York strip exists? I have to know.” 

Ryan says, “Quit bellyaching, let’s go.”

“I’m just asking.” Dylan starts to move, confused when they don’t turn to left to get in the car. “We’re not driving?”

“It’s not that far,” John says. “Let’s stroll.”

Dylan changes course. “What’s the restaurant called again? We drove for hours to get here. I’m excited to see what you love about it so much.”

“I’ve never been to it,” Ryan says, falling into step with him. John stays a pace behind and zones out on the hypnotizing way Ryan sways into Dylan’s space. 

Dylan says, “Seriously? How’d you hear about it?” 

“Johnny and I looked up places. It sounded good.” Ryan’s grinning despite how nonchalant he sounds. He paws for Dylan’s hand, taking it and clasping their fingers as they make it to the corner. 

Dylan looks down, quietly surprised. He doesn’t look up again until they come to the first stoplight, the three of them standing in a semi-circle as they watch a couple cars pass. He glances at John, searching for a reaction. John shrugs. 

“Really,” Dylan finally says out loud. 

“We didn’t come for the food,” Ryan says plainly. “We just came here.”

Dylan squints, discerning. He looks back down at their hands and then away, a goofy smile threatening to take over his face. John knows what Dylan looks like when he’s touched. He says, “You guys are ridiculous.”

“It’s my birthday,” Ryan says simply. 

John didn’t rent out the whole restaurant, but he did reserve the entire small balcony area. They have a private party of 3 with champagne and a chef’s menu. “Have whatever you want,” Ryan tells Dylan. “It’s on us.”

“I’ve known you my whole life, and I just found out that you don’t understand how being the birthday boy works,” Dylan says, “but I’m not gonna correct you.”

Laughing, John says, “This is what he wanted. Our treat for you.” 

“Great. I’m tasting all of these desserts.”

John can’t help looking over his shoulder a few times at the start of the night, cautious, but drinking good champagne helps them take the edge off. By the fourth course, he’s floating, freely holding Dylan’s hand and relishing the way the alcohol makes Dylan bold enough to lean over and kiss Ryan at the table. He’s caught on. 

“Happy birthday. I love you. And this… what is it — pork belly confit? That’s what the waiter told us, isn’t it? That’s so good. My favorite one so far,” he says beaming at Ryan, and Ryan honestly giggles.

“I love you and pork belly too,” Ryan says. “Thanks for celebrating with me.” 

They spend so much time eating, drinking and laughing that Dylan stops bothering to sit upright by the end. He rests his head on John’s shoulder while Ryan picks at the dessert dishes. 

“I’ve been on dates,” Dylan says dreamily. “I’ve even been on double dates. I don’t think I’ve ever done triple. Triple. Hmm, maybe trio works better.”

“I think you’re right.” John rubs at the nape of Dylan’s neck, soothing him. “Do you like our trio night?”

“Yes,” Dylan says. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Dylan lifts his head to make eye contact. He pouts until John kisses his bottom lip, then says, “And thanks for getting it. Somehow. I don’t know how.”

John kisses him more thoroughly. Dylan moans gently, lush with feeling. He’s been addictive to John since they first hooked up, but there’s something especially intoxicating about Dylan when he’s been softened up by the day. 

Dylan plants one last peck on him, and then twists in his seat. “Ryan,” he says. “No, put the fork down.” He brings his arms up to make sure he keeps Ryan’s attention and kisses him next, melting into it.

John watches. He doesn’t think he could ever get tired of watching them, and now he can add a romantic rooftop patio to the list of best places and situations where they’ve let him look. They stop as their server comes back to check on them another time. John tells him that, yeah, they’re doing perfectly. Ready to finish up.

 

They didn’t tell anyone for months. Part of it was adjustment, but the other part was sheer practicality. Their schedules didn’t overlap again. John and Dylan’s texts shifted in tone, and John went from seeing Dylan on Facetime if he happened to be around Ryan to actually scheduling their own sessions, but that’s all they had. Everything was digital. 

Besides, it was exciting to have the secret. John would’ve loved to pretend he was above that kind of childish entertainment, but he liked dancing around Ryan as they stoked a strange new obsession. John liked receiving the dirty texts messages and pictures. He liked the way Dylan sounded when he came even just over the phone. They indulged and reminded each other that they didn’t know if it was going anywhere. Things could’ve been completely different by the time they were both in Toronto for summer. Not telling anyone made the most sense.

John didn’t see Dylan the night he got into Toronto. They linked up the next morning, technically, and had the best intentions. Dylan showed up at John’s apartment first thing so they could have breakfast and talk, but they it made it as far as John’s living room floor. John pushed fingers into Dylan before he’d even fully gotten his pants off. 

At least they made it out of the apartment for lunch. 

John found time to get off with Dylan nearly every other day for three more weeks before they agreed to come clean about it. 

“We should tell Ryan first,” Dylan said, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “He’d freak out if we didn’t. I mean, he might freak out anyway.”

“He won’t.” 

John didn’t actually know that for sure, but Ryan seemed receptive enough when they talked to him over dinner and the Blue Jays at John’s apartment the next day. He said all the right things, even though the surprise was visible on his face. 

“I had no idea,” Ryan said. 

“We kind of didn’t want you to,” John said.

“Not — not you, specifically,” Dylan chimed in, waiting for Ryan to look at him. “Everybody, you know. We weren’t sure if it was a fluke.” 

Ryan nodded, expression dazed as he eyed Dylan. “Right. No, I, uh. I get it.”

“Are you sure you’re cool with it?”

“Yeah.” Ryan cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m happy for you. If — since you’re happy. It’s just a change.” 

John chalked up the distance he put between them to necessity, figuring out their new boundaries. Meanwhile Dylan spent a lot of time at John’s apartment that summer. He had Dylan every way he could, both of them reveling in testing each other’s likes and limits. Dylan liked fucking in the picture window just off John’s den area, turned on by the idea that someone could look up and maybe, maybe catch a glimpse of him loving the way John pumped him full of cock.

“I didn’t peg you for a show-off,” John breathed, grazing his lips over Dylan’s neck. 

“It’s hot to me,” Dylan confessed. “I don’t know.”

The interest wasn’t limited to windows. He liked thinking about someone overhearing, about quickies in public. “You want to be caught,” John said when they talked about it after sex one night. “You’re wild.”

“I almost — one time I was in the woods with a guy, while we were on vacation. My family,” he cleared his throat. “We got kind of carried away. I almost thought we were gonna do it right there in the grass.”

“You didn’t?”

Dylan shook his head against the pillows. “He got scared. I was so nervous too, but, you know. Still. I keep thinking about it.”

“You would’ve let him?” John asks, turning to hover over Dylan. 

“Probably,” Dylan said. His voice got even quieter. “Yeah.”

“You want me to fuck you outside in the grass?” 

Dylan snorted but said, “Kind of,” bringing his legs up to bracket John’s hips. 

John didn’t mind Dylan’s fetish. He’d made his own discoveries about surprising things he really got off on before. Dylan was always kind of wishing to recreate a hookup that got away, turned on by the idea of fucking someone in the open. Being seen. John could work with that.

What John realized is that he liked the way Dylan sounded choking on his cock as he tried to deepthroat. Dylan let him try putting a hand over his throat as they had sex after that, but it didn’t recreate the feeling. It was less about choking and more about pushing Dylan, listening to him get loud and pleading. John next tried fucking Dylan so vigorously that his face turned beet red, tears in his eyes as he begged, “Please, Johnny,” and John came so hard he thought he saw stars behind his eyelids. 

He kissed Dylan for an hour after they came down. He started at his mouth and mapped a path down Dylan’s body, getting to his feet and starting back the way he came. Dylan had been reduced to plaintive whimpers while John murmured, “You were so good. Baby, you did such an awesome job.”

He stroked his hands over Dylan’s chest and belly, patient ushering back to himself. John smiled against Dylan’s collarbone when his arms finally circled around for a hug. 

“Have you ever done that before?” Dylan asked. “Like that.”

“No, not like that.” John pressed, nosing at the soft well of Dylan’s throat and going still to try to sense the rhythm of his heartbeat, how it had slowed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Dylan drew in a long breath and exhaled. “I think I liked it.”

John kissed his neck. “I think I like you.”

They were a whirlwind of summer and sex, dating and discovery — by the time John got a chance to really take a beat, he and Ryan were traveling back to New York to start the preseason. He didn’t think much about the ways Dylan and Ryan had dealt with each other in the midst of all the change. They seemed fine. 

A few months later, Ryan even got on board with John’s suggestion that Ryan just move into the guest bedroom in his condo quickly enough, too.

“That makes sense. Since we train, and I know you and Dyl are going to keep staying together a lot,” Ryan had said. 

Eventually John just wanted to buy a house, but for now, this seemed practical. They already lived together during the season. He knew Ryan had decided to give up his lease on the apartment he was in last year at home. 

“I can always use more Stromes in my life,” John said.

Plus it was fun when the time came to all set-up house together. Taking Dylan to bed at night and trying not to make too much noise threw John back to their first time. Dylan got off on it too, trying to find ways to make John lose composure or moaning slightly too loud, then snickering when John clamped a hand over his mouth.

 

Dylan’s completely taken to date night on their walk back. He wedges himself between Ryan and John, holds out his hands for them. John obliges and Ryan follows suit. 

“Shall we?” Dylan says, full of flair. 

The air is warm and humid but not unbearably so with the sun down. John’s buzz feels wonderful, an ideal balance that makes him feel heady and yet alert enough to appreciate the moment. His limbs are loose but his bones feel heavy, and he’s holding his boyfriend’s hand who’s holding his brother’s hand, and. Well. The night has turned out the way he hoped. Smooth and intimate, private and public. 

“I can’t wait to get home and strip,” Dylan says up into the night sky.

John and Ryan laugh, alcohol hysterics rippling down the line. It’s a pretty relatable sentiment. 

Dylan follows through on his intentions the second they get indoors. He starts undoing the buttons on his shirt so quickly that John has to rush over and cover his hands to pause him. “Slow down,” he says. “Let us.”

“I can do it.” Dylan sounds defiant but lets John push away his hands anyway. Ryan brings up the rear and works on the buttons from the bottom while John finishes what Dylan’s set in motion up top. 

He keeps catching Ryan’s eyes over Dylan’s shoulder, and John can’t think of anything witty to say, but he thinks Ryan’s on the same wavelength regardless. The two of them together, helping to peel the layers from Dylan, a couple gluttons for how it feels to take care of him. Dylan’s smart. He’s far from helpless, and he doesn’t need looking after, but there’s still something about him that makes John feel really good for trying anyway. 

Plus, Dylan’s so appreciative. He recreates his move in the restaurant, lavishing kisses on John first and then spinning to make sure he hooks Ryan next. John perches his chin on Dylan’s shoulder as they part. Ryan gets Dylan’s pants off and steps back to look him up and down. John embraces Dylan from behind, keeping him still so that Ryan can take in the length of his body.

“What made you want him?” John asks.

“I don’t know.” Ryan gives Dylan another obvious once-over. “I’m still trying to figure it out. I guess it didn’t feel like one thing.”

“When did you know you wanted to fuck him?”

“Johnny.”

“No, tell me,” Dylan says. “You can be honest.”

Ryan shifts on his feet and then shuffles forward, resting his hand right above Dylan’s waist. “That night on vacation. After that, I guess. Same as you.”

“Nothing before?” John asks. “Not even a thought.”

“Not a thought I knew what to do with.” Ryan swallows. “It didn’t come out of nowhere, but I didn’t — it wasn’t like _that_ before we almost fooled around. I mean, it probably was, but I didn’t know. I couldn’t. Why would I?”

His eyes travel over Dylan’s body without hurry, looking his fill. John’s tempted to poke at that, make him describe what it’s like to watch Dylan and want him, if it makes him nervous. Attraction can’t be that different from person to person, he knows logically — not the sensations of it, but the way the emotions cut someone up inside have to be more unique. That had to be sharper for Ryan, more alarming. John wishes he knew what it was like to be that intimidated by something and do it anyway. 

Dylan shivers in John’s arms as Ryan trails fingers across his belly. He drags them down, hovering above Dylan’s dick and pauses, teasing. Considering. 

“When’s the last time you watched the video?” Dylan asks, surprising John.

Ryan’s eyes snap up immediately. “I haven’t.”

“At all?” John raises an eyebrow.

Ryan says, “Not since we—” He clears his throat. “I don’t need to.”

“But you needed it at first,” Dylan says.

“That’s not what I mean.” Ryan squeezes his eyes shut, starting to flush. “You know now. We’re here.”

“Is that what made it hot? That I didn’t know?”

“ _No_.” Ryan’s eyes seem glassy when he opens them again, knotted in frustration and fear. John thinks about sharp emotion again, like razor thin cuts to his resolve. Nick, nick, nick. “I made a mistake, I told you. I’m _sorry_.”

“I just want to know what you liked about it,” Dylan says, equally as fervent. Whether that’s the whole truth or not, John isn’t sure, but Dylan touches Ryan’s face and pulls him in. Ryan has to lift his chin to kiss Dylan. He takes a shuddering breath, still wound up by the questioning. “I want to learn what you like.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ryan whispers again. “I like you, that’s all.”

The note of pleading in Ryan’s voice shouldn’t be appealing, but John’s brain latches onto it anyway. It reminds him of the night he found Ryan touching Dylan, how startled Ryan had sounded at being caught. He was trapped and wary, and yet John had still convinced him to give in to temptation. It had felt good to poke at Ryan and see how far he’d go. 

He reaches to lift Ryan’s shirt and start pulling at the button of his slacks. Ryan whines but lets John undress him as he and Dylan trade kisses. 

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” John says. “You were really nice with him.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Ryan murmurs to Dylan. “I just needed to know how you felt.”

John says, “We could’ve done a lot more, but you didn’t push. You were good to him.”

Ryan whimpers but begins to help, tugging off his shirt and sliding his pants down. Before long they’re both naked, and John watches Dylan step into Ryan’s space more, wrapping his arms around him. He watches them kiss languidly, Dylan touching Ryan’s cheek, and discards his own clothes.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he says and holds out his hand.

 

Dylan’s palms had been flat against the door, his mouth grazing the paint as John pounded into him. Between his unabashed moaning and the way the door rattled in its frame every few thrusts, John knew there was no way Ryan could mistake what they were doing. 

It had taken John an embarrassing amount of time to put two and two together, but he leaned right into Dylan’s ear and said, “You’re getting off on it. You’re not trying to get away with me fucking you. You want him to know.”

“Nuh uh,” Dylan breathed.

“He can hear you,” John said. “He knows how much you love my dick. His slutty, desperate little brother. Maybe he’s wondering if one cock is even enough.”

Dylan’s whole body jerked as his orgasm hit. He cursed under this breath, a litany of gibberish and swear words. The back of the door would be decorated in his come. John kept him pinned even after his body went a little limp. Hitching his hips up, he slid in and out of Dylan and thought about him getting off to Ryan listening. He bit at Dylan’s shoulder when he came, curling his fingers into Dylan’s waist. 

John was stunned in the wake of it, skin electric with afterglow as his brain tried to process everything he let come out of his mouth. Slipping out of Dylan, he said, “You made a mess on my door there. What if I made you lick it up?”

“Gross. No way,” Dylan said airly, turning. 

John chuckled. He pulled Dylan his way, walking them back to the bed. Dylan collapsed with him, letting John palm his ass and slide fingers down the cleft, playing with the come starting to leak out of him. 

“You came really hard,” John said. 

“You fucked me pretty hard,” Dylan says, tucking his face against John’s shoulder. If Dylan’s orgasm hadn’t given something away already, trying to hide certainly did. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing. You said dirty shit, and I came.” Dylan says all of it with his mouth smashed against John’s skin, hilariously evasive. 

“Is it true?”

“No.” He looked up finally. “It could’ve been about anybody.” Dylan kissed him. “I like being teased. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” John said and didn’t harp on the point then. 

He toyed with the idea in subtler ways, slipping in more mentions of Ryan in bed, testing how far Dylan let him go. Dylan complained about John trying to torture him sometimes, but he never told John to stop. Each time they had sex, he was still all loud moans and begging, and John would box him in and tell Dylan how filthy he looked, how Ryan could hear the way he had no shame, how Ryan should walk in and see Dylan stuffed with cock, gagging for it like a whore. 

He didn’t always purposefully get Dylan going while Ryan was in the condo, but John did his best to take advantage of it when it happened. They fucked while Ryan went out to lunch with friends one afternoon, and as soon as John heard the heard the front door open and slam shut as he returned, he ground his hips down into Dylan and said, “Sounds like we’re not alone anymore. Want me to call him in?” 

“Fuck,” Dylan said. He balled his fingers in the comforter, squirming.

“Want him to finish you off?” John asked. “I’m ready to come, but he could help out. Get you the rest of the way.”

“Oh, my god.” Dylan wasn’t even responding directly, just gasping out small, helpless pleas. 

“He might not even need convincing,” John said. “All he needs is one look at you and how much you want it. He’ll slide right in you, all nice and slick from my come. He’d fuck you until you’re full. Want me to ask him?” 

“Johnny,” Dylan whispered, helpless. John kept it up until he came, so overwhelmed that Dylan’s jaw hung open for a solid minute as the shockwaves pummelled him. 

It backfired on John a little. Dylan curled in on himself afterward, stubbornly trying not to look John in the eye. 

“What is it about Ryan?” John asked softly. He tried to peer over Dylan’s shoulder and see his face, but Dylan brought a pillow over his head. “Dylan, you can tell me.”

“I don’t want to.” Dylan’s voice was reedy and muffled. “It’s weird.”

“I don’t care.” John couldn’t say he understood it really, but he’d already said enough pornographic things about the idea that he couldn’t tell Dylan he was fucked up if thinking about his brother got him off. It wasn’t like they’d done anything, John thought, and then his brain tripped up. “What did you guys do?”

Dylan poked his head up at that, twisting around. “Nothing. Why would you ask that?”

“Something happened,” John said. “It’s bothering you.”

Dylan flopped his head backed and exhaled, dejected. He closed his eyes, touched his temple and then opened them again, staring at the ceiling. “Do you remember the thing in the woods I told you about? That guy on vacation.”

“Of course.” Dylan turned his eyes to John, just looking. John reared his head back. “Wait, shit. Wow.”

“Nothing happened.”

“It almost did.”

“But it _didn’t_ ,” Dylan insisted. 

“You said you wanted it to,” John said. “Have you talked to him about it?” 

“Not a chance. It’s fucking sick.” Dylan pushed his fingers around his eye again, like counter pressure for a headache. “He’s not thinking about it.”

“You don’t know that,” John said. Dylan groaned and covered his face with his hands entirely. John picked at his fingers, trying to lift them off. “He was there too. It wasn’t only you. It’s not that bizarre.”

“It is.”

John managed to pry Dylan’s hand loose enough to see half of his face again. “Alright, maybe, but you didn’t ask to feel like this about him,” he said. Dylan frowned. The nerves were clear in his expression. John practically nuzzled him, hoping for reassuring. Dylan at least didn’t try to turn away again.

“After, we still a had few days left in the cabin our parents rented.” He spoke so low that John thought he’d miss words if he moved away at all. “He didn’t say anything. I didn’t either, but I left my bedroom cracked, and — I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I wondered what he’d say if he came and wanted to talk. Or if he came in and stayed, what would I do? Really, it’s shitty, but I’d lie there willing it. Hoping. I just wanted to find out.”

John didn’t respond immediately. He let Dylan take his time, working through the memory. When his silence seemed endless, John asked, “Do you have a better idea now?”

“I’m with you.” Dylan sighed. 

“But let’s say he came in here now.”

Dylan rolled over to crowd John’s space, moving to sit astride John’s hips. He pinned John down with a stare. “Did I gross you out?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Do you still want me?”

“Yes,” John said, simply. He wasn’t sure what the hell he was getting caught up in, but that had probably been true about Dylan all along. He was hard not to want and, in that moment, basic reassurance seemed like what he needed most. They could deal in nuance later.

Dylan’s kiss was fervent and thorough. Part gratitude and part diversion. John didn’t miss that his question had still gone unanswered. 

“Would you let him fuck you?” he asked directly. Dylan scoffed and stubbornly kissed him again. John rolled them over to hold him down, ghost his mouth across Dylan’s to keep his attention without giving in. 

“Johnny,” he complained. 

“Ryan walks through that door and says he wants his turn in you right now,” John said, ignoring the way Dylan tried to wriggle under him. “You would let him?”

“Don’t be mean,” Dylan said. 

“Do you want to fuck your brother?”

“I’m with you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Dylan whined, trapped and annoyed. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, finally cracking. He sniffed. “Don’t tell him. I know I shouldn’t want to. Nothing else ever happened. It was dumb. We were drinking.”

“So, he could fuck you? You’d do it.”

“I’m sorry,” Dylan says. “I’d let him, are you happy? Fuck, I’m sorry.”

John kissed Dylan quickly again, rewarding him. “Hey,” he mumbled. “No, no, you’re okay.” He touched Dylan’s cheek. “I just wanted you to be honest with me. That’s all.” 

Dylan hit the side of his fist against John’s shoulder, but that was all the fight he had. Embarrassment, frustration. John let Dylan take all his weight, hoping gravity calmed him down. Dylan sniffed again and blinked, eventually hugging John back and letting himself be held until his heartbeat slowed down.

 

Ryan and Dylan lie down on the bed side-by-side and jab each other playfully. Stretched out, John can compare the ways they look alike and where they differ. He dances his finger back and forth between them: eenie, meenie, miney, mo. 

“Hey!” Dylan says when John falls onto Ryan first, catching his lips and sliding their tongues together. Ryan’s hands curve around his sides, a startled noise getting stuck in his throat. It’s exactly the reaction the John had hoped to get. 

He kisses the side of Ryan’s face, pushing his chin so he looks at Dylan. “That’s his weakness,” John says. “He hates being left out.” 

Ryan laughs. “He’s always been like that.”

Dylan sticks his tongue out at them. “I don’t need anything.”

“Oh. In that case,” John says, kissing Ryan again. Dylan sounds indignant and only lets them get away with ignoring him for about ten seconds before he’s pushing at John’s side, knocking him off so he can wedge his body there instead. 

John doesn’t fight. He’s laughing too much, rolling to the side so that Dylan can sit on Ryan and shamelessly take kisses for himself. 

Ryan wraps his arms around Dylan’s back, holding him tight. John watches the way something in his expression crumbles and builds itself back up again, withstanding the force of Dylan. His hold takes a minute to relax, and John wonders how long it’ll be before Ryan stops seeming so surprised that Dylan wants him genuinely. Ryan’s hands trail down Dylan’s body carefully, over his ass, and Dylan gasps into his mouth as Ryan squeezes. 

John follows like a cue, moving behind Dylan to help Ryan spread him, exposing his hole. Circling a finger around Dylan’s rim makes Dylan whine. It’s fun to toy with him. John leans down to graze his teeth over Dylan’s ass cheek as he rubs over his opening, holding off on giving Dylan more until he’s canted his hips back so much the dip in his back seems obscene. 

Licking over Dylan’s hole interrupts their kiss. Dylan gasps, “ah,” and exhales John’s name. John answers with another swipe of his tongue. Ryan probably can’t see much, but he seems to catch on anyway, spreading Dylan so that John can eat him out while their lips slide together. 

He likes the tender, heartfelt sounds Dylan makes as he withstands John’s mouth. John grazes his fingers along the inside of his thighs where he’s ticklish, making him jump. “Oh gah—” Dylan slurs, and John slides his hand up, trailing over Dylan’s balls and along his shaft, happy to feel that he’s already hard. 

“Okay?” John stops to ask. 

“Killing me,” Dylan whines. 

“Ryan’s got you.”

Dylan groans like that’s not good enough. “Fuck me.”

“Which one of us?” John doesn’t have to taunt him, but it’s worth it to watch Dylan’s head drop as he growls. Ryan tilts his head back, accommodating the grumpy entirety of the boy on top of him. He laughs. 

“Anyone,” Dylan says. 

“Both of us?” John asks. Ryan’s eyes go wide, his fingers flexing on Dylan’s ass. Dylan keeps his head buried against Ryan’s throat, but he presses back into John’s touch. “Dylaaaan.” John bites his cheek harder this time, making him yelp. 

“Dyl. Look at me,” Ryan tries. He sounds sweeter. “Do you want that?”

Dylan takes his time obliging. Ryan doesn’t repeat his question, but he smiles softly, and Dylan moves to his ear to whisper to him. John can guess by the way Ryan bites his lip and stifles another laugh that Dylan’s talking shit before Ryan even says, “He told me to tell you he’s going to break up with you if you don’t hurry up.”

John slaps Dylan’s ass. Dylan jumps again, shaking with laughter. He murmurs something else to Ryan, and Ryan squeezes his eyes shut this time. 

“He says,” he starts. “You should get me wet and help me get inside him.” Ryan pauses to listen. “Really wet, so you can fit too — are you sure?” Ryan stops to try to check in, but Dylan is adamant about finishing what he’s saying. “Okay, fine, um. Uh, he wants us both to come in him. We can’t pull out until we’ve both come. He wants it really bad. Please fuck him now.”

John slaps Dylan’s ass one more time for good measure, just to see him jump. He slides off the bed to go find the lube in the suitcase he packed. Dylan and Ryan are kissing again when he returns, Dylan rolling his hips down against Ryan’s leisurely. The picture of it is so nice that John wishes they hadn’t abandoned their phones downstairs in the mess of forgotten clothes. He’d take a photo. 

“Back up, babe,” he says to Dylan, patting his thigh as he moves behind again. Dylan gets back up on all fours, angling his hips to give John the view he loves. 

John starts easy, getting his fingers slick and sliding two into Dylan’s hole. Dylan moans into his kiss with Ryan. He tends to sound amazingly grateful to John for pushing inside him — fingers, his cock, a dildo. They haven’t actually experimented with toys as much as they should, really, and John makes a mental note to ask how Ryan feels about the idea of getting Dylan to wear a plug.

As much as he enjoys fingering Dylan, John doesn’t want to linger. This part isn’t a challenge. He pulls out and adds more lube to his hand, reaching beneath Dylan to run his palm over Ryan’s cock where it lies against his belly. Ryan breathes out in a shaky exhale, and John looks around Dylan to try to smile down at him. 

“Feel good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. 

“Ready to fuck him?”

Ryan nods, so John fists the base of his cock. Dylan knee shuffles forward without prompting. He takes over, holding Ryan steady as John leans away and lets them handle things. He sinks down onto Ryan’s cock smoothly, practiced. They’ve done this enough in the last few weeks that there’s nothing stilted about it. Just thinking about that as he watches blows John’s mind. They’re changing so much, so fast, and he gets to witness it in real time. 

Gripping Dylan’s hips, Ryan bucks up. His breath is shallow and sort of harsh, all his concentration on fucking. John covers one of Ryan’s hands with his own and kisses the round slope of Dylan’s shoulder. 

It’s nice to feel the way they move together and look forward to how much more intense things still have yet to get. Dylan turns to the side, letting John capture his mouth. He takes the chance to bring his other arm up around Dylan, rubbing over his nipple. Dylan loves being touched, plain and simple. John can feel him start to melt back, throwing off the groove Ryan’s just set. 

“Careful,” John says, smiling against Dylan’s lips. “Go the other way.” 

He presses on Dylan’s back, urging him to curl forward. Ryan drags a moan out of Dylan when they kiss again, digging his heels into the mattress to rock into him at the same time. 

John drizzles more lube along Dylan’s ass, getting his hole so wet that he can hear the squelch as Ryan fucks him. He teases around the rim with his fingers, dragging out the anticipation. Dylan curses his under breath when John pushes one finger in alongside Ryan, then another. 

“Breathe,” Ryan says. Dylan exhales in a one powerful rush and then inhales again. “You’re doing good.” Ryan touches Dylan’s hair, keeping their faces close. “So, so good.”

John varies his speed and rhythm, trying to get Dylan used to all of it. Dylan hisses when John adds a third finger. He whimpers but doesn’t complain. John pauses to give him a reprieve. Dylan’s tight and so hot against his hand. It’s hard to imagine pushing in anything more, but Dylan withstands it and rides out how overwhelmed he seems until John thrusting a little harder makes him moan. 

He can’t seem to stay focused on kissing Ryan. Dylan drops his head to the side, and Ryan bites down on his own bottom lip, breathing harshly through his nose.

“Okay?” John asks, smirking.

Ryan’s eyes honestly roll for a moment. “You have to see how this feels.” His hips falter, a groan forcing its way through clenched teeth. “Johnny. You should—he’s okay. You’re okay, right?”

Dylan seems completely disinterested in talking, amazingly. Sex can reduce him to nonsense, but a hazy, swelling silence is rare. The most John can manage from him right now is a thick moan, but valiantly Ryan fights against his own pleasure to get his attention. 

“Are you ready? Babe.” The endearment hooks Dylan’s attention. John watches their noses brush, Ryan’s soft chuckle out of place and desperately genuine. “There’s our boy. Want it?” Dylan’s mouth moves, but John can’t make out whatever he’s attempting to say. Ryan makes a face at him that melts into a smile, and then he looks to John. “You can do it.” 

John doesn’t need much more prompting than that. He uses extra lube, half for the sound and half to make sure Dylan stays comfortable during his first time taking two cocks. Pushing inside is easier than he assumes it’ll be, Ryan stilling to wait for John to carefully slide forward until his hips meet Dylan’s ass. 

“Ohhh, my god,” Ryan gasps. Dylan keens, hunching like he can press impossibly closer to Ryan through sheer force of will. “I’ve got you. Dyl, you feel amazing.”

John rubs a sympathetic hand across Dylan’s lower back, trying to ease him into it. Dylan reaches one hand behind him to find John’s wrist, blindly groping and then squeezing hard around the bone. John doesn’t thrust until Dylan lets go. Rocking at all seems daunting until he just takes a breath and makes himself do it. He’s never felt anything this tight around his cock, Dylan’s skin warm and flushing. He looks so fucking hot split open around both of them that John can hardly look away. 

Moving more makes Dylan whine, a taut, guttural sound that pitches slowly higher and fizzles out. “Fuck, please,” he says with no real heft, the ghost of an exclamation.

John pauses to kiss his spine and restarts. Ryan’s gritting his teeth again, trying his best to weather the stiff glide of their cocks against one another, clutched tight where Dylan’s softest. His forehead looks shiny with sweat. John knows he can’t possibly look any better. 

He couldn’t have imagined being here a couple years ago, and yet right now he’d probably rather die than be anywhere other than inside Dylan, shaking apart with Ryan. Each time he pumps forward, Dylan makes some sultry, fucked out noise. John would love to make him do that forever. 

“You’re so good,” Ryan says, like he suddenly remembers where he is. “Dyl. Fuck. Oh, fuck. I love this.” 

Leaning forward brings John’s weight down on them, but it also lets him get nearer to Ryan. Ryan’s mouth hangs open slightly, huffing from the effort to keep fucking up when he’s being crushed. John keeps making it worse to reach his mouth, kissing Ryan over Dylan’s shoulder while they manage to both pump into him in counter-rhythm. 

His buzz from dinner has dulled way down in the time since they left the restaurant, but there’s just enough of a swooping tingle left to make everything about this sparkle. Dylan hums, unable to do anything while sandwiched between John and Ryan other than enjoy getting fucked. John kisses his neck. He’s theirs. Ryan and John have found a lot in common over the years, but he’s more important and consuming than any of it. 

“Ah. You feel perfect, baby,” John whispers to him. 

“Yeah?” Dylan says, swallows. “I’m good?”

“The best,” John tells him. “You’re gonna make us come.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Fuck, Dylan. Perfect. Just like he said.”

The quiet of a smaller upstate town versus the city makes the squeak of the bed and their groaning loom larger. Every shift seems so loud that some part of John worries the whole neighborhood can hear them, rutting against each other to chase after the most intense orgasm he’s ever had. 

Ryan beats him to it, leg kicking suddenly. His fingernails bite into John’s arm. Pinned under two bodies, he can only take it as all his nerves light up, still forced to survive John’s thrusting to get to the same place. 

“Shit, oh shit,” Ryan chants. Words tumble out of his mouth, clearly struggling without any real options for getting away to recover. 

John bears down and rocks faster, both Dylan and Ryan shouting at the sudden onslaught. They don’t sound the same when they’re calling out, a random detail that sticks in John’s brain as he finally catches what’s been chasing. Dylan’s been a sloppy delight the whole time, but imagining the wealth of come in him now seems dirty in a way that absolutely thrills.

 

Dylan was wrong about Ryan. “He watches you,” John told him a week after Dylan finally gave him the full picture. 

“We’re still close,” Dylan had said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like we’d avoid looking at each other for the rest of our lives.”

John opened a kitchen cabinet and pulled down a glass for water. Dylan was waiting for leftovers in the microwave, keeping an eye on the bowl inside to make sure it didn’t bubble over. 

“It’s different from that.”

John assumed he hadn’t noticed sooner because he didn’t know there was anything worth paying attention to before. Ryan’s affection for Dylan wasn’t secretive or sparing, but John had watched Ryan’s eyes travel over Dylan’s body more than once in the last few days. He’d gauged his reaction to seeing them kiss. 

John bumped his arms against Dylan. “Do you hear me?”

“I know you want to make me feel better,” Dylan said, already trying to dismiss it.

“I can show you,” John said. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d developed a real inkling about it all. Something big had happened between them. It didn’t make sense to him that Ryan wouldn’t have feelings about that. Dylan was the kind of person you developed complicated feelings about whether you went looking for them or not. 

Though Dylan was reluctant to believe it, he still liked risking Ryan overhearing and calling them out when they had sex. Thank goodness for exhibitionists. He was a sucker for threatening boundaries and testing himself even when he claimed not to be dwelling. Ryan wasn’t easy to crack. A couple years of acting like nothing was out of the ordinary was apparently tougher to break through than John might’ve thought. On the bright side, they got off a lot in the meantime. 

Catching Ryan in their bedroom was still beyond John’s wildest hopes. 

It turned out that Ryan had never been above it all. He was dragged under by longing almost too readily. Do it, do it was essentially all the nudging John needed to get Ryan to cave to his own shame. 

John took a chance. He knew Dylan’s fantasy about Ryan coming to him, and he saw the conflict on Ryan’s face. Taking out Ryan’s cock and practically guiding him to Dylan’s ass felt like the least he could do for all of them. It was something they had in common — letting themselves be pushed to their limits. John loved doing it. 

Ryan pressed his bare, wet cock into Dylan and took. John couldn’t tear his eyes away from the desperate, embarrassed look on Ryan’s face and masturbated watching him surrender to his biggest secret.

The next day, John woke up to Dylan kissing his cheek, his jaw. He coaxed John out of sleep slowly, and John repaid him by saying, “Mm, morning. Guess who fucked you last night.”

Amused, Dylan said, “I actually do remember waking up in the middle of round two.” John just looked at him, staring at Dylan until his eyebrows knitted together. “What? What happened?”

There was no smooth way to say that it had been Ryan. The cock Dylan vaguely remembered thrusting into him in the middle of the night hadn’t belonged to John, no. John told him what he found and promised that they were careful, but mostly, “He wanted you. Aw, it was intense, Dyl. He couldn’t say no.” 

“Don’t fuck with me,” Dylan said, jabbing John’s leg with his knee. He slapped his hand against John’s side too. “He didn’t.”

“He did,” John says. “Ask him. It was just like your, you know. How you imagined. I had to talk him into doing it, but he came here on his own.”

Dylan looked stunned and confused. “I don’t believe it,” he said, but he didn’t sound angry. Too surprised, maybe.

“You want proof?” John said, trying for light. He didn’t want Dylan to freak out. John took a risk, but they had already stepped pretty far outside of the box before then, getting off on the idea of Dylan having sex with his brother. 

“It sounds nuts,” Dylan said, frowning a little. “Wouldn’t I be able to tell?”

“You were asleep,” John reminded him. He touched Dylan's face, kissed his nose. “But doing it again, I don’t know if he’ll go for it. He might not let me get in his head like that.”

“He already did, according to you.” Dylan was coaxed into kissing John for real, for one indulgent, sweet moment, and then he slid back. He seemed resolved. “I want to see.”

“See if he tells you first,” John suggests. “Maybe he finally will.”

Dylan sighed. John could tell the not knowing was eating at him already, but he agreed. He showered and left the room before John could hardly get himself together. By the time John made it out of the bedroom, they had breakfast almost finished. John caught Dylan’s eye while Ryan wasn’t looking, asking silently, and Dylan shook his head.

It wasn’t entirely surprising. Ryan didn't have the upper hand here. He could only imagine how surreal the night before had been for him, tied up in shame and maybe regret today. He played it off fairly well, not shying away from being around them, but he cracked the moment Dylan was out of sight. 

“Why did you let me do that?” he snapped.

Something hot rolled in John’s in gut, surprising him. Ryan was so wound up, and John felt bad, but he didn’t resist planting the seed for more to get Dylan what he was after. He wasn’t done enjoying this.

Ryan shattered in steps, like coats of paint painstakingly chipped away until he was flattened in broad daylight by what they both knew: he hadn’t stopped craving Dylan. He couldn’t shake it. 

The second time Ryan fucked him, he seemed closer to resigned. John still got off to it, filming the way Ryan catalogued Dylan’s body and concentrated on the in and out slide of his cock. John wondered if his intense focus was out of disbelief or if Ryan was trying to commit what sex with Dylan felt like to memory. Some of both but more of the second, John thought, simply based on how Ryan hardly fought John about filming it all with his phone.

They wrecked Dylan. John couldn’t blame Ryan for wanting some way to relive it later. John got to see Dylan like this as much as he wanted. After this long together, he couldn’t imagine having that first night on the couch with him and leaving things at that. Dylan was hot in bed and entirely lovable no matter where he was, earnest in his affections and always willing to try something, go bigger, love more. One quickie late at night would’ve been a waste.

Honestly, even with two rounds, Ryan didn’t know the half of it.

Ryan had gotten up and bolted from the apartment so quickly the next day that John didn’t have to be secretive about showing Dylan what he recorded. No delays. He transferred the video to a USB drive and played it for Dylan right on the smart TV in his bedroom when he finally woke up. 

The relaxant Dylan had taken for his back had him fighting through a groggy haze. John assumed that was to blame for why he didn’t react right away, solemnly taking in the sight of his brother spreading his legs and fucking into him with shocking familiarity.

John worked his way down to kiss Dylan’s shin, his knee, his thigh. “Quick spoiler,” he teased softly, pushing Dylan’s thighs apart. “He came in you this time.”

Dylan did bring his hands down, pressing two fingers over his rim and then inside while John dressed his inner thighs in kisses. There was no way Dylan would be able to feel it so many hours after the fact, but maybe just knowing he could be fingering himself with some of Ryan’s come was heady. On screen, Dylan was beautiful and pliant, taking it as Ryan pushed his legs back and rocked down into him. On the bed, Dylan sunk his fingers in further, exhaling through his nose.

When John looked at his face again finally to watch Dylan watch himself used, he noticed that Dylan’s eyes were red-rimmed. 

“Are you okay? Hey,” he said, crawling up. Dylan turned away toward the TV until John touched his cheek, guiding his head. “Hey.”

Dylan swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “He did it.”

John panicked. “I told him to.”

“But he wanted it. Look,” Dylan said and his mouth trembled briefly. “He never said anything to me.”

His voice broke a little at the end, some harsh combination of just waking up and too much emotion.

“I don’t think he knows how.” 

Ryan could barely say the words to John out loud. It was like pulling teeth. John wasn’t surprised that he’d tried so hard not to let anything spill after their original close encounter. It didn’t seem like a desire Ryan was proud of harboring.

“I should be mad,” Dylan said.

“Not at him,” John said. “I pushed him.”

Dylan’s brow furrowed. “So I should be mad at you?”

It broke John’s heart, but he would be honest. “Maybe.” He pressed his forehead to Dylan’s, too near to actually even look him in the eye. “Hey. Did we fuck up?” John asked. Dylan whined, squirming like he might tilt his head away again, but John persisted. “Dylan, did I fuck up? What’s wrong?”

“Ryan fucked me.”

“You wanted to see,” John said. “Talk to me.”

“I should be mad,” he repeated, huffing out a wounded breath.

“Are you?” 

“I shouldn’t want it,” he said. “I should hate that it happened, not that I missed it.” He sniffed. “I want it, and that scares the shit out of me. I’m terrible.”

“You’re not. He wants you too.” John kissed over his cheekbone. This wasn’t about making Dylan feel ashamed. “You can have this. We can ease us all into it.”

Dylan groaned. “You make it sound simple.”

“Maybe it should be,” John told him. “At least in here.”

“What about you?” Dylan asked. His eyes were wide, still unsure but sincere.

“What about me? Don’t worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

A couple tears managed to work free and slide down the side of Dylan’s face, into his hairline. John wiped the wet trail away and kissed his chin. When Dylan made a move to look at the TV again, John didn’t stop him. He propped himself up enough to rub his hand over Dylan’s arm. Following the length of him down reminded John that Dylan still had fingers inside himself. He didn’t move them much, just small flexes of his hand to keep rubbing right beyond his rim.

John reached for the lube on the nightstand and made things freshly slippery. He hadn’t gotten to finish fucking Dylan himself last night. John coaxed Dylan into pulling his fingers out and letting John settle there instead, carefully pushing in while Dylan stayed wrapped up in watching Ryan have sex with him. 

Trying to match Ryan’s rhythm felt like too much for a lazy morning fuck. John dedicated his efforts to driving in slow and deep, relishing how Dylan’s mouth formed a delicate O-shape as John’s cock stroked inside. 

“Johnny,” he gasped as Ryan went harder, their skin slapping lightly on screen. The audio caught Ryan babbling feelingly about how good Dylan was, how right Ryan felt with his cock inside him. Dylan cursed, closing his eyes. He dug his fingernails into John’s biceps, and John didn’t even mind that Dylan was probably imagining his cock belonged to someone else.

 

Ryan is already awake when John opens his eyes. He’s still in bed, lying on his side and idly dragging a hand down Dylan’s back, all the way down his spine and over his ass. He doesn’t stop until he can’t go on without stretching, then reverses and slides all the way up to Dylan’s hair. John doesn’t say anything to interrupt him, content to wake without hurry and watch Ryan pour over Dylan. 

He takes several long passes, sometimes pressing into Dylan’s skin and other times skimming. John’s been watching for a while when he travels down and lingers, slipping one finger down Dylan’s cleft. He drags it flat along Dylan’s crack, then pauses to stroke over his hole, John assumes. Dylan snuffles in his sleep, hips shifting minutely, but Ryan doesn’t seem to have any intent other than to touch.

“You really do like fucking him while he’s asleep,” John croaks out. He clears his throat. 

Ryan’s hand swipes higher, resting it on the small of Dylan’s back. “Shut up,” he says, adorably embarrassed. “I’m not going to fuck him.” 

“Why not?” John asks and hums as he elongates his legs, works his muscles. “It’s not like he would mind.”

Ryan’s eyes flick away, thoughtful. John bites at the inside of his lip so he doesn’t laugh at him. After a pause, Ryan shakes his head and rolls onto his back. 

“I feel like I have a dried layer of sweat on me,” he says.

“Because you do.” John sits up and surveys the room. He reaches over Dylan’s body to nudge Ryan. “Go wash up or something. You know this place has the giant bathtub. Enjoy some luxury.”

“Maybe I will,” Ryan says, copying the way John had stretched out. “Are you coming with me?”

The invitation catches him off guard. Ryan has been really gradual about initiating intimacy with John, even though he always enjoys himself when John or Dylan gets the ball going there. He wouldn’t have expected double penetration to be the thing that inspired Ryan to start coming out of the cocoon, but it makes a sideways kind of sense.

“Sure. In a minute,” John says. “You should get it going.” 

He lingers in bed while Ryan rolls out. Dylan’s still sleeping soundly. John grazes his knuckles along his face and leans down to kiss him quickly before finally standing.

The house is surprisingly cold despite all the light streaming in once he heads out into the hallway. John feels ridiculous hopping his way downstairs naked, trying to keep moving to stay warm. Finding the thermostat takes longer than he likes, but he finally kicks the heat up a few degrees to knock off the chill.

All of their clothes, shoes and cell phones are still strewn around the living room floor. John doesn’t bother sorting them downstairs, he gathers it all in a giant pile and carries it to the bedroom. Dumping them near the foot of the bed, he at least fishes out all the phones and puts them on the dresser, pausing a moment to make sure he doesn’t have any urgent messages.

Satisfied, John sets his cell aside and follows the sound of running water. He finds Ryan in the tub, under the threat of being engulfed by bubbles as it fills. 

“They left bath bombs,” he says and lifts his leg to poke his toes through the suds. It’s the kind of idly cute thing Dylan would do. The only difference is that Ryan’s legs aren’t quite as gangly.

John steps over the edge and sinks into the warm water. It feels like a shock after surviving the cold air. The tub really is spacious enough that John doesn’t even have to press against Ryan. Their legs brush under the bubbles, and Ryan hooks his ankle over John’s, but they still have a decent amount of space between their shoulders.

It’s relaxing. Ryan slows the water flow down to a near-trickle, the pattering sound oddly soothing. Ryan hums under his breath like he may not realize he’s doing it all. 

“What song is that?”

“Hm?” Ryan purses his lips, then says, “Oh, uhhh, Keith Urban. Took me a second because I don’t actually know the words.”

“You’re just in a good mood,” John says, jostling his foot companionably.

Ryan shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s nice here.”

John nods as he glances around the bathroom and thinks about how the rest of the house looked in the daylight. “Yeah, it’s a good place. This was a nice idea for your birthday. Thanks for suggesting it.”

“Thank you for helping me make it happen,” Ryan said.

John gestures out toward the bedroom and Dylan. “I think he loved it, too.”

A smile splits across Ryan face like lightning. “Yeah,” he says and chuckles. “We exhausted him, though.”

“Hey, a job well done,” John says and leans over to try to see Dylan. He can’t from here, really. When he tips way over the side of the bathtub, he can see Dylan’s feet on the bed but no more. 

Sitting back down, John cuts his hand through the water for no reason, playing with the drag of it as he thinks back through the last few days. Ryan starts humming again, something different than before. 

“He was worried about this. You guys. The three of us,” John says as he draws swirls in the soap. “So this trip is good for him. I think he was afraid this wouldn’t work.”

“Me too.” Ryan inhales and sighs, mouth quirking to the side. 

John pinches his arm. “We’re having fun so far.”

“It’s still terrifying.” Ryan gathers a mound of bubbles in his hands and then blows a chunk of his small mountain right off. He watches the soap scatter and says, “I could try to date anybody in the world, and I’m in love with my brother. What is that? That’s nuts.”

“Only if he doesn’t love you back.”

Ryan’s lips curve up again. “In love with my brother who has a boyfriend, who feels comfortable reassuring me that Dylan’s also really into me. Picture perfect disaster.”

“Well, when you put it _that_ way,” John says, joking. 

Ryan’s shoulders bounce with laughter. He flicks at the water with no real aim and slumps down more. “I adore him, though. I love being around him, I like that he flirts with me now. Fucking him.” He marvels at the ceiling. “God, do I love having sex with him.”

John snorts. “I can relate to that.” He notices Ryan’s arm shift in and settle. Bubbles are still blocking his view, but his imagination fills in the blank. 

“I have no self-control when it comes him anymore.” Ryan exhales shakily. “I don’t think I could go back to how things were.”

“Nobody’s asking you to.”

“Not yet. He’ll be in the league too. The scrutiny — we don’t know what can happen.”

“Don’t worry about it yet. It’s working so far.” John understands the stakes are higher for them. He wouldn’t get out unscathed if people found out, but at least for him the risk of upsetting his whole family life isn’t there.

But they’re safe here. They can keep finding pockets of private solace. John’s seen how intensely they can love each other. He’s felt it. He wants to keep it.

“Think about right now,” John says. He slides closer to Ryan, closing the distance and dropping his volume. “You just had a birthday. Good food, great sex. There’s a hot guy waiting in bed for you naked, and he’ll still feel fucking amazing when you slide back in. He’ll let you come in him as many times as you want today, and then go a couple rounds with your cock in his mouth just to guarantee you’re satisfied. He’ll let you hold him, and that’ll somehow be better than all of it, because he’s the sweetest person in the world, and he wants you.”

Ryan exhales through his nose, overcome. “Johnny, you’re killing me.”

“Are you getting hard just thinking about him?” John asks.

He moves a hand to Ryan’s lap to get his own confirmation. Ryan’s cupping himself, it feels like, but John eventually finds that he is already working with a semi. John shoves his hand out of the way and turns in to really grip Ryan’s cock, encouraging him.

Ryan closes his eyes and groans. “Always.”

John teases him until he’s fully erect. He leans in to Ryan and whispers his name, brushing their lips together as Ryan’s turns his face toward John’s voice. It doesn’t take much more to get Ryan to give in, letting John kiss him thoroughly while his fist works under the water.

Dylan takes a while to appear in the doorway, but John’s still expecting him when he shows up in the bathroom saying, “I’m cold. You left.”

John stops kissing Ryan to look around. His hair is flat where he was lying on it, and his face is still puffy from a night of deep sleep. John gets what Ryan means about adoring him.

“Morning, babe,” John says and bobs his head up, beckoning Dylan closer.

Dylan steps into the water on Ryan’s other side, scooting right next to him. “What are you guys doing?”

“Talking,” Ryan quips.

“Jerking Ryan off,” John says honestly and laughs. “He was gonna fuck you while you were asleep, but he chickened out.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Ryan says. 

Dylan rests his head on Ryan’s shoulder and reaches across his body, curling his hand around Ryan’s cock right above John’s. “Why not? You could’ve.”

“Told you,” John says. Together they stroke Ryan’s cock at the head and base in opposing rhythms. Ryan shifts restlessly, his moans blooming out big and echoey with all the tile. 

“I wasn’t sure,” Ryan gasps. “If, uh. Fuck. If you were sore.”

Dylan says, “Aw, that’s actually sweet. I’m alright. I could’ve taken you.”

Ryan’s hand flies to John’s thigh, restlessly kneading his quad while withstanding the attack. He must grab onto Dylan on the other side, because Dylan makes a startled noise and then muffles it by kissing Ryan’s neck. He nips and sucks at the skin. Ryan whines, and John says his name, says, “Come here,” so that he can go back to kissing Ryan’s mouth at the same time.

Feeling him come is almost precious. Ryan’s hips buck forward in staccato pushes, like he’s trying not to get carried away. He gasps against John’s lips and loses the fervor of their kiss. Water sloshes around him lightly. John squeezes around Ryan’s cock, but he can feel Dylan working over the crown still, slow and torturous.

“Jesus,” Ryan says.

“One last happy birthday,” Dylan says. John can hear the smug amusement in his voice. “Don’t say we didn’t get you anything.”

Ryan groans. “I can’t stand you.” He turns to kiss Dylan despite it, and John watches Dylan smile with their mouths pressed together. 

Dylan’s grin is staggering, so transparently delighted when he sits back. He reaches past Ryan to pull John nearer next, taking a kiss from him too. John’s going to love it when he gets the chance to say he told him so, that he knew he could he find a way to get Dylan everything he wanted. He can wait, though. Right now it’s nice enough to watch him enjoy it.


End file.
